


For All That is Beautiful

by misshannahbell



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Divergence, Creative License, Eventual Fluff, Leliana as Divine, Minor Sexual Content, Minor Violence, Multi, Original Characters - Freeform, Peacekeeping Inquisition, Post-Trespasser, Rating May Change, Sexual References, Slow Burn, Trespasser Spoilers, like hella canon divergence, post-Inquisition, rated T for a reason kids, young inquisitor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-05-22 01:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6065101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misshannahbell/pseuds/misshannahbell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But...don't you think they'll know?" she asks, frowning. "I don't even have my vallaslin anymore." His eyes harden slightly at the mention of vallaslin, but he lets it pass.</p><p>"You'll be going in as a double agent. I will send you fake reports every so often that the Spymaster will be certain to intercept." He frowns, placing his hands on the desk and looking at her firmly. "It will not be easy. I have no doubt that it will take a long time for you to lose suspicion and you won't be able to tell anyone what you're doing; that in itself could break you."</p><p> </p><p>In an attempt to gain an upper hand on the Inquisition, Fen'Harel employs the services of Natia, an ex-Inquisition Agent. However, her loyalties are not so set in stone, and what is she to do when a certain dwarven rogue catches her interest?<br/>(Rating subject to change)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, thanks for reading! This is the first fic I've published in a very long time, and the first in this fandom! I'm very excited to share it with you guys, and maybe eventually I'll post up the other fics I'm working on.
> 
> That said, it should be noted that I LIVE off of constructive criticism, so if you have some advice I would be glad to hear it!
> 
> All Elven translations will be in the end notes. I might take some liberties with the language in the future, we'll see!
> 
> NOTE: There is very minor sexual content in this chapter (just groping), and references to sex. There is also minor violence and the death of an animal.
> 
> (Title is taken from lyrics of Fellow Feeling by Porter Robinson)

"Any day now, _da'len_."

Natia attempts to ignore the oh so tempting urge to draw the bowstring back a little too roughly. Her elbow would probably dig right into his throat. That would teach Athim not to breathe down her neck.

"You are not much older than I, _era'harel_." She can practically see the warrior's face twisting in annoyance. The word is not often used as an insult, but Natia takes a sick sort of pleasure at the way Athim reacts to being called that. He could have fit in well among the templars, if not for his pointed ears.

His insistent hovering continues and she huffs, lowering her bow. She tries to turn in an intimidating way, but the need to keep quiet makes the effect less so.

"You are more than welcome to give chase, Athim. It would be quite the spectacle, I suspect." He narrows his moss-green eyes at her. If looks could kill.

"Just shoot the damn ram, Natia."

She smirks and turns, nocking the arrow and drawing back the bowstring. Her vision feels like it's tunneling, traveling down the arrow and straight at the ram. She adjusts her posture, loosens her grip on the bow itself just slightly, and breathes. She releases as the air leaves her body.

The arrow flies true and the ram collapses with a sad, final bleat.

Natia is on her feet before it hits the ground, Athim on her tail. She draws her dagger and runs her free hand down the ram's neck to soothe it. Her teeth dig into her lip before she can accidentally invoke Falon'Din. Athim would definitely hear and report it. Instead, she quietly says a prayer from the Chant before ending the ram's misery, cleaning the dagger and putting it away.

"What's that you just said?" Athim demands.

"Something the shemlens taught me." He smacks his lips like there's a bad taste in his mouth. "It's just until I stop almost invoking the _Evanuris_."

"I'm sure _he_ would prefer prayers to the _Evanuris_ over the stupid shem religion."

"And _I'm_ sure he, of all elves, would understand that not all of us were on bad terms with the shems in our area." She yanks the arrow out perhaps a bit too roughly as Athim scoffs. Thankfully, he drops the conversation. Natia doesn't feel like arguing today.

Natia skins the ram and takes it to the river to clean it of blood as Athim gets to work trimming the meat from the corpse.

As she gently washes the pelt, her attention is unwillingly brought to the faded burn on the scars along her face. Fen'Harel said that was normal, that it would be like that for a while. But he never said how long it would take for her to not feel so...naked. A hand lifts and traces along the scars where she once proudly wore the mark of Falon'Din. It hurts, but differently from the physical burn.

Her clan wasn't given much of a choice when they arrived at Fen'Harel's fortress. Either they allow his mages to remove their _vallaslin_ , or they would not be welcome. Of course, he was much kinder in how he said it, but the implication was not subtle.

For weeks her face had felt like it was on fire. Her mother, the clan's First, tried to soothe it with gentle ice magic, but the burn would not leave her skin. It was taking too long to go away.

But Fen'Harel was unconcerned, said that sometimes, if the elf's belief is very strong, the magic used to apply the ink will be stubborn. He recommended only that she rest, and that her mother continue to soothe it with ice magic.

Many others in her clan suffered the same stubbornness, so Natia's mother could not always be there when the burn would peak for the day. Other mages had to treat it, but they were never as gentle with their magic, even when she screamed that they were being too rough. "Hush now," they would say, "this is the price of freedom. Be grateful that you were blessed by Fen'Harel."

"Natia!" Athim calls, pulling the young elf from her thoughts. "The sun is setting! We must return to camp!"

She shakes as much moisture off the pelt as she can, holding it up to dry as she treks back towards Athim. When he sees her, he turns wordlessly and begins the trek back to camp. She worries threads of fur between her fingers wordlessly, nibbling on her lip.

"Are you going to tell Abelas that I was saying shem prayers?"

Athim is silent, but she can tell he is thinking from the way he tilts his head up slightly, watching pink and purple clouds drift across the sky.

"No. Not this time," he finally says. "But do not let me hear it again."

She nods obediently, then realizes she is behind him and murmurs, "Alright."

The rest of the walk back to the camp is in silence, and Natia's very being is practically vibrating when they rest the bag of meat and three pelts on the floor of Abelas' tent. The Sentinel looks from them to their kills and nods approvingly.

"You've done well. I'm sure Fen'Harel will appreciate your sacrifice, shemlen."

She can practically feel Athim's lip curl at being called a shemlen, and Natia quickly interjects before he can burst.

"We graciously accept your approval, _hahren_ , and humbly take your leave." Abelas looks between them before nodding curtly. Natia all but drags Athim out of the tent and throws him into the dirt next to a nearby tree.

"Have you lost your blighted mind?!" she hisses at him. He just glares at her.

"He called us shemlen, Natia!"

"To him, that is what we are!" His lip curls again. "He is as old as Fen'Harel himself, Athim! We are all children to Abelas, especially you and I!"

Athim gets to his feet roughly, glaring at her. "My clan came here because we thought we would get more respect from our own people than from the shems. But have you walked the main floor lately? The clans fight amongst themselves while Fen'Harel and his inner circle sit in the Sanctum and do nothing!" He's pacing now, hands clenching into fists before unclenching again.

"Is it not better to be amongst our own people?" Natia asks quietly.

"No!" The shout draws the attention of nearby hunters. Athim's eyes flicker around nervously as his voice lowers. "Not...not like this. The clans are too different. We receive little to no respect from Fen'Harel's agents, and all because the stories passed down to us were wrong." He sighs. "This is not how I wanted to be reunited with my people."

"Athim," she says gently, taking a step closer to him. He looks up at her, his eyes wild, before he grabs her arm and pulls her behind the tree, shoving her against it. She hisses as her skull connects with the rough bark.

He kisses her too roughly, a hand sliding expertly past the bindings of her tunic. His calloused hands on her skin make her moan softly, even as she tries to push him off. He grabs her breast too hard and bites her lip, drawing blood.

That seems to snap her out of it and she slams her hand into his throat, following him as he crumples to the ground. Pressing a knee onto his chest, she gets close to his face.

"Listen closely. I am not a _thing_ for you to rut into whenever you get frustrated, and you would do well to remember that." Her tongue swipes the blood off her lips; she winces at the sting. "If you are ever this rough with me again, I will not let you touch me for the rest of your life. Do you understand?"

For a moment, he does nothing. When she pushes her knee further into his chest, however, he wheezes and nods frantically. Natia uses his chest to push herself up onto her feet and stalks off, leaving Athim wheezing and grunting in her wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> da'len: little one/little child  
> era'harel: demon-mage; similar to an arcane horror. used as in insult in this context.  
> Evanuris: powerful mages that the Elves worshipped as gods  
> shem/shemlen: "quick children". used by elves to reference humans, typically used as an insult.  
> hahren: elder. used as a term of respect.


	2. Summons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are liking things so far! As always, Elven translations are in the end notes.
> 
> NOTE: This chapter contains blatant references to sex and a friends-with-benefits relationship. Reader discretion advised.

Natia is not stupid, but she's beginning to think that Abelas believes such.

She notices the way he watches her in camp, and it doesn't help her nerves when she is trying not to overcook their food. He talks to her more, asks her many questions about her clan and her faith. She is honest because, again, she is not stupid, and Abelas could sniff out a lie from across the Waking Sea.

She does not mention singing The Chant, and he does not ask, though she can tell he senses that she's leaving out information.

Even Athim notices that something is amiss.

"He hardly speaks to the Keepers, yet he suddenly seems very interested in you," he says one night as they lay naked next to each other in his tent.

"Jealous?" she teases and he rolls his eyes. "I haven't the slightest idea why he's taken interest. I would prefer if he didn't."

"That makes two of us," he mutters under his breath, kissing along her shoulder.

"You _are_ jealous!" Natia snorts with laughter and Athim sighs, moving away from her.

"Jealousy isn't the right word," he argues. "We do what we do for as long as we've been doing it and you don't expect me to be possessive?"

"We aren't a couple," Natia reminds him. "That was a pretty specific part of the arrangement."

Athim just hums in the back of his throat and leans over to press his lips to her neck. She sighs with pleasure and lets him pull her on top of him.

The days that follow, on the way back to the temple, Abelas seems even more pushy. He goes out of his way to ask her about things and even joins her and Athim on hunts every now and then, much to the warrior's dismay.

She can see the temple in the distance when Abelas asks about the Inquisition.

Natia tenses visibly and looks at Abelas with plain confusion on her face.

"Well, you were an agent for them, were you not?"

Athim is rigid beside her, practically shaking from how hard he's trying to concentrate on keeping his breathing normal. She knows she must choose her words extremely carefully.

"When I was needed, until Fen'Harel called me to my Elven duty." Abelas seems to notice the tightness in her voice and smirks, shaking his head.

"You will not be banished for past occupations. I once considered the Inquisition an ally, myself." That gets the attention of all elves in hearing distance. He arches a brow at all of the stares. "Of course, I came when I was called. It is a shame we had to break away from them."

"What would Fen'Harel say if he were to hear this?" Natia asks carefully, trying to keep her tone neutral. Abelas flicks his eyes towards her.

"He would agree, of course. He is no fool; he knows a worthy ally."

They are silent for the remainder of the journey back to the temple.

Athim follows her to her clan's chambers, lingering by the door until she invites him in. He stands close enough that she can feel his warmth.

"You don't think he was testing you, do you?" he murmurs.

Natia purses her lips. "He was absolutely testing me. Though why, I'm not certain."

"Do you think Fen'Harel has something planned for you?"

The she-elf shrugs uncertainly and Athim practically growls in frustration. "I have as much information as you do! Go on, go see your clan." He glares at how she is so blatantly dismissing him and Natia all but shoves him out of the door. "Go! I have to speak with the Keeper about this."

Finally, after she ends up sealing the chambers behind him, she hears him sigh in frustration and stomp away. She can't even imagine where all the pent up anger would go if they hadn't come to their arrangement some time ago.

"Natia? Is that you?" Natia turns just as Keeper Elise rounds the corner, absolutely beaming. "Oh, _da'len_ , how I've missed you!" She gathers Natia into a tight, warm hug. Natia laughs and hugs her back, breathing in her sharp, familiar scent of magic. Keeper Elise pulls back and holds her at arm's length before cupping her face lovingly. "How was it?"

"It was...interesting. I have some things to discuss with you. Where is Mother?"

"She's tending to the new clans that arrived while you were gone. There are whispers that we might have to move; there's hardly room anymore." Natia frowns.

"Surely Fen'Harel expected to have so many followers."

Keeper Elise shrugs, then grins. "Come, come, I just finished those elfroot treats for the children, you must try them!" Natia smiles and follows her into their makeshift kitchen. Keeper Elise practically shoves one of the candies into Natia's mouth and she laughs around it.

It's the sort of candy she has to suck on. There are obvious healing effects added to it because it soothes the dull burn that Athim had caused the night before. The sharpness of the elfroot makes her breath feel cool.

"These are wonderful, Keeper!" she exclaims and the Keeper beams proudly. "The children will love them. It will certainly be easier than forcing potions down their throat."

The Keeper giggles just as Natia's mother, Ilain, rounds the corner. They practically jump on each other, embracing tightly.

"I've missed you terribly, _ma len_." Ilain kisses Natia's temple, making the younger elf smile. "Did the hunt go well?"

"Yes, _mamae_. I shot one of the nine rams we caught!" Ilain grins proudly, kissing her forehead.

"Keeper and I will make something especially delicious tonight to celebrate!"

Keeper Elise clears her throat at that moment and turns to Natia with a more serious expression. "Now, you said you had something to discuss with me."

Natia frowns and nods. "Abelas has been very interested in me, recently. He watches me, joins Athim and I on hunts, and asks me many questions." She sighs. "He asked about my work with the Inquisition."

A somber mood falls over the small kitchen, with both adults in front of her frowning.

"Do you think he will report you?" Keeper Elise asks, but Natia shakes her head.

"No. He himself was an ally of theirs, once. I don't think he asked with the intention of getting me in trouble. But it was most certainly a test. I'm unsure if I passed or not."

Ilain frowns and reaches out to take Natia's hand, squeezing tightly. "Fen'Harel cannot be without reason. If he wishes to accuse you of something, surely he will do so himself."

It seems almost too coincidental that at that moment, there are three polite knocks on the door to their chambers. The three women exchange glances, for the knocks would not be so dainty if it were an elf from the main floor.

Keeper Elise stands and so does Ilain, both of them smoothing back their hair. The Keeper's is significantly more silver than Ilain's, but their ages are obvious regardless.

Natia follows behind as though she is a child again, peeking between them as they open the door.

Abelas smiles politely at them, though she can see the disdain in his eyes. Sentinel bastard.

" _Andaran atish'an_ , Keeper Elise. If it is not a bad time, Fen'Harel has requested to speak with Natia."

Natia feels her heart drop into her stomach as all three turn to look at her. Keeper Elise could absolutely deny Abelas if she wanted, but it would not go unnoticed by Fen'Harel. The clan leader draws herself up confidently, assuming what Natia likes to call her Keeper Stance.

"What is the reason for this request?"

Abelas seems to bristle, eyes flickering to Natia. She only smirks and arches a brow.

"I'm afraid I can't disclose that to you, Keeper. _Ir abelas_."

Keeper Elise's eyes flicker from Abelas to Ilain to Natia. Ilain and Natia lock eyes for a split second. Natia nods and Ilain turns to look at Keeper Elise decisively. Abelas seems amused to have witnessed the silent conversation between the women.

" _Ma nuvenin_ , Abelas," Keeper Elise finally says. "I would like her back by supper, if at all possible." Natia's heart clenches for a moment, recognizing the phrasing that Keeper Elise would use with the Inquisition whenever their agents came for Natia.

Abelas bows uncharacteristically low, considering his opinion of the Dalish. " _Ma serannas_ , Keeper. I make no promises, but I will try my best."

He rises and looks at Natia, gesturing outside with one arm.

She spares one last glance at her mother and Keeper Elise before she follows, painfully aware of his firm, guiding hand on her back.

The walk to the Sanctum is painfully slow. Being escorted by Abelas is not common, and soon there are groups of elves standing on either side of the path, watching them. Many are elves that Natia has never seen before.

"How many clans arrived while we were away?" she asks quietly of Abelas.

"Many," is all he answers. Natia makes a face, but remains silent.

They begin climbing the stairs and Natia realizes she has never been in this part of the temple before. The main floor is so large that it feels like the entire building, but she often forgets that there are at least two more levels to it.

Abelas uses his Sentinel abilities to open the large doors and Natia peeks over her shoulder. Past the balcony, she can see a crowd of elves watching them from the main floor. Her mother and Athim are at the front, the former looking worried and the latter looking as angry as always.

The hand on her back coaxes her further inside. The doors swing shut behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> da'len: little child, little one  
> ma len: my child (constructed)  
> mamae: mother  
> andaran atish'an: a formal elven greeting  
> ir abelas: I am sorry  
> ma nuvenin: as you wish  
> ma serannas: my thanks (thank you)


	3. The Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for any feedback I've been getting about the story :D hope you enjoy!  
> As always, all Elven translations are in the end notes!
> 
> Note: no warnings for this chapter! Although if you see something that you think should have a warning, please let me know!

The inner chambers of the temple are beautiful, to say the least. The architecture is similar to the main floor, but definitely more intricate and detailed. It is made very obvious that these are the more important chambers.

Abelas guides her through the winding rooms and hallways, and Natia knows that he will need to guide her back, as well.

They climb one last set of stairs that open into a long hallway. The light from the windows that line it bounce off the white stone, making the entire hall look ethereal. It's almost dramatically long. A throne room, perhaps?

As they walk down the hall, Natia slows a little so she can peer out the windows. They're moderately high above the ground, high enough that Natia can see the Tirashan stretch out considerably. She tries to ask Abelas questions about the temple, or the forest itself, but he remains silent.

Finally, they reach the large double doors. They are beautiful, too. The stone is sleek and shiny, and owls of Falon'Din are carved into them with stunning detail. Natia doesn't get too much time to admire, however, as Abelas immediately wills them open.

The first thing she notices is the large, oval table in the middle of the room. It is made of the same stone as the doors, and there is a large map of Thedas carved into it.

The second thing she notices is Fen'Harel.

He stands at the back of the room, facing the windows. His hands are clasped behind his back and he looks every bit the god that the Dalish have been led to believe he is. Even from behind, Natia can tell he is far away from here, somewhere deep in his thoughts.

That is, until Abelas clears his throat. Fen'Harel turns and his eyes are immediately on Natia, studying her.

She feels _extremely_ intimidated.

"This is her?" Fen'Harel asks. Abelas nods.

"Her Keeper requests that she is returned by supper."

There is a pause in which Fen'Harel is silent. Then, suddenly, a grin breaks out on his face and he chuckles. It's...strange, to hear such a human sound from someone that everyone on the main floor says is a god.

"I'm sure this won't take that long. Please, stand watch outside." Abelas bows low and steps outside, shutting the doors behind him.

Natia doesn't move from her spot and Fen'Harel notices. He smiles warmly at her and beckons with his hand. It's like he pulled on an invisible string tied around her, as she obeys without a second thought and moves to stand beside him at the window.

"Isn't the view extraordinary?" he asks, his head turning to look outside. Her head follows and her breath leaves her.

The back of the temple overlooks the forest that's got everyone so terrified. It's frightening and dangerous at night, and the first hour of walking through it terrified Natia. But deeper in the forest, it's more docile. There are dangerous beasts, of course, but the elves have become experts at avoiding them. It's not so bad, once one understands how it works.

The sunlight bounces off of dark green foliage and she can even see the rippling shadows of water against a few of them. Birds chirp as they fly by. The whole forest sounds _alive_.

"It's beautiful," she whispers. "Sometimes I can't fathom how anyone can be scared of this place."

"Scary stories passed down through generations, I suspect," Fen'Harel says. "I imagine Dalish elves that don't invoke their gods before battle can be rather frightening."

Natia turns to look at Fen'Harel. He's smirking, the exact face she would expect a trickster god to make.

"Your people?" Fen'Harel grins down at her.

"More or less," he says. "I wanted to make sure there was somewhere they could be safe, without worrying about humans discovering them. Falon'Din's vanity came in handy. He built such a large temple to himself that I realized it would be perfect if my plans were to come to fruition."

He glances over his shoulder at the two large doors. "I didn't not realize, however, that so many would be willing to join. I fear his temple may not be big enough, even if I open the second level to them."

"Of course we're willing," she says, and he looks at her with an arched brow. "You provided the truth of our history and culture, and offered us freedom, and a chance to reunite." Natia looks back out at the Tirashan. "I don't see why any elf would want to turn that down."

"Have you _seen_ the fighting?" Fen'Harel asks dryly and Natia frowns a little, nodding.

"Only gathering every ten years takes its toll. It will take time, but I'm certain that we can learn to live in peace."

She can feel Fen'Harel watching her. When he walks away, she follows him with her eyes. He approaches the map on the table, staring at it carefully. After a moment, he beckons once more and she obeys. Getting a better look at the map, she can see that some of the carved portions look newer than others, as though Fen'Harel has been adding to it recently.

"Do you like tea?" he asks suddenly, looking down at her. Natia thinks about this before shrugging.

"I've never tried it." He nods, seemingly satisfied with this answer.

"Come, let's sit." Natia follows him into an adjacent room. His quarters, she suspects. There's a large bed in the far right corner, covered in soft-looking animal pelts. A large, decorated rug sits in the center. It looks like the sort of thing that Keeper Elise would gather the children on to tell stories.

There are many bookshelves pushed against the walls, each of them filled with tomes and novels. She can't even begin to imagine the amount of knowledge in this room alone.

Fen'Harel walks over to an oak desk, bare besides a map similar to the one on the stone table, and sits on one side. He gestures for Natia to sit on the other and she obeys. The chair is soft and comfortable. She could fall asleep in it if she really wanted. Her elbows rests on the arm of the chair, her chin fitting comfortably in the palm of her hand.

"Natia," she turns her head to look at him, "how embedded were you in the Inquisition?"

Her pointer finger is absentmindedly tracing a scar she got from working with them; the question makes her painfully aware of it, so she stops.

"Not very. I've never even been to Skyhold," she answers honestly. "But I worked closely with the lead scout, Harding."

"Mmm, yes. I know her, as well." Fen'Harel makes a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat. "I must make a rather large request of you, I'm afraid. You can deny it if you like, though that would be...unsavory." Her heart leaps into her throat. She can make a pretty good guess at what he wants, judging by the previous questions.

"At the moment, what's left of the Inquisition could be what ruins all of my plans. You've worked closely with someone in the Inquisitor's inner circle, now that the Commander is gone. I need you to go back to the Inquisition as my spy, send me reports as often as you can." Natia wants to jump out of her own skin.

"But...don't you think they'll know?" she asks, frowning. "I don't even have my vallaslin anymore." His eyes harden slightly at the mention of vallaslin, but he lets it pass.

"You'll be going in as a double agent. I will send you fake reports every so often that the Spymaster will be certain to intercept." He frowns, placing his hands on the desk and looking at her firmly. "It will not be easy. I have no doubt that it will take a long time for you to lose suspicion and you won't be able to tell anyone what you're doing; that in itself could break you."

Natia smiles softly. "I'm not so easily broken, _hahren_." His brow quirks in curiosity, but she just smiles wider.

"Very well. I...must also ask one more thing of you." Natia tilts her head to the side. "The Inquisitor seems to have it in her head that I can be steered from this course I've chosen. If you can...I would like you to pull that from her mind. Make her despise me, if that's what it takes."

It takes a moment, but all of the pieces click eventually.

"It's you," she says softly. "The lover that the agents whispered about. You're Solas." He winces visibly at the name.

"Not to you. Not to anyone, anymore." His tone is firm and his eyes have gone hard. Natia shrinks in the chair, averting her eyes. For a moment, she had forgotten she is talking to a god.

"Of-of course. _Ir abelas_ , Fen'Harel. I did not mean to overstep my boundaries."

He sighs audibly after a moment and stands, turning to face the window behind the desk. She half-wonders if he's purposely being dramatic.

"We were not lovers," he says softly. "I loved her, and she loved me, but not in that way." His head dips. "We were the closest of friends." Natia is quiet, watching him. "But she does not understand. She cares too much for the humans, does not realize what is necessary. She is still just a child."

Natia is unsure what he means, but keeps her mouth shut. She has already crossed the line once; it would be dangerous to do so again.

He seems to shake himself out and the vulnerability is gone as Fen'Harel turns to look at Natia.

"If you do not think you can do this, if you think that your past affiliation will be a problem, I need you to tell me. I can find someone else." His voice is even and controlled, but she can hear the underlying implication. _If you still have some loyalties to the Inquisition, I need to know._

"I can do this," she answers with a shaky tone, nodding. Fen'Harel watches her for a moment before nodding.

"Excellent. We will start preparations immediately."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahren: elder. used as a term of respect.  
> ir abelas: I am sorry.


	4. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Thanks for any kudos/comments you guys are leaving! Sorry the upload is a little late this week; had to rewrite/edit some parts! Hope you like it :D  
> As always, all translations will be at the bottom!
> 
> NOTE: No warnings once again! Though if you catch something you thing might need a warning, just let me know!

Preparations did not, in fact, start immediately.

Natia's meeting with Fen'Harel ends when she quietly reminds him of her Keeper's request. He looks startled, then laughs and remarks how he'd completely forgotten.

"We'll begin preparations tomorrow, then," he says, placing a hand on her shoulder and guiding her to the door. The hand tightens unexpectedly and she looks up at him. He's giving her a very hard stare. It's almost reminiscent of her father.

_Oh, Creators_ , she thinks to herself, _that's the last person I want to associate Fen'Harel with_.

"Remember: you mustn't tell a soul the details of this. Not even your clan. Is that understood?"

She swallows the lump in her throat and nods. "Not a soul."

Fen'Harel nods and allows Abelas to lead her back to camp. Her mother and Keeper Elise practically leap on her when she enters her clan's chambers. She allows them to speak at once, then they fall quiet.

"Fen'Harel has asked me to perform a task for him." Natia sighs as they start blabbering questions. "I can't say what it's about. But I'll have to go away for a while. I'm...not sure when I'll be back, honestly." Ilain's shoulders droop. "He's preparing for my departure tomorrow."

"What sort of preparations will they be?" Keeper Elise asks. Natia shakes her head.

"I cannot say. I'm sorry, Keeper." Keeper Elise sighs and nods, getting up to fix Natia's supper. Ilain is worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, but she also remains silent.

Abelas arrives for her the next morning, and guides her once more through the temple to Fen'Harel's chambers. The god is at his desk, using magic to place points at various spots on the map. When they walk in, he doesn't even look up before waving a hand at them. Abelas bows next to her and then exits the room.

"How are you feeling?" Fen'Harel asks, looking up at her.

"I'm nervous," she answers honestly. "I'm not sure what these preparations are going to entail."

Fen'Harel nods and stands, clasping his hands behind his back. "You are familiar with the Inquisition's spymaster, Leliana?" Natia's eyes widen and she nods. Fen'Harel chuckles and holds out a hand. "Do not panic, child. She has become the new leader of the Chantry, so my scouts say. Therefore, I doubt she is so intimately involved with the Inquisition anymore."

He seems to notice her look of relief. "However," he begins, and her heart sinks, "I suspect she will have mentored someone to take over her position. I doubt that they will be any easier to convince than Leliana herself."

Natia swallows the lump in her throat and crosses her arms. "We will need to come up with a very convincing lie, then."

"I agree," he says, and gestures to the desk. She sits in the chair and he leans against the desk next to her. "I've come up with a very basic skeleton for what your story could be. I suspect just doing that will take some time."

"It shouldn't be too hard to fill in the blanks," Natia says with a shrug and Fen'Harel grins, chuckling.

"Perhaps not, but it will take some time to make you a liar good enough to slip past the Inquisition's new spymaster." Natia nods with a frown, nibbling on her lip.

"Let's get started, then."

The next few weeks pass in a similar fashion. Abelas summons her from her chambers early in the morning, and she spends the day in Fen'Harel's chambers as they run through her story over and over. Fen'Harel picks apart her tells one by one as Abelas interrogates her with questions that they believe the Inquisition will ask of her.

It does not go as smoothly as any of them hoped, however. She is unused to so much lying, and they soon discover that she has _many_ tells. Abelas grows increasingly impatient with each failed day.

"This will never work!" he exclaims one late afternoon, shooting up from his chair. Natia sighs and runs a hand down her face in frustration. "This child cannot possibly understand the intricacies of such a task!"

"You would doubt my choice?" Fen'Harel asks threateningly, and Natia instinctively shrinks in her seat. His eyes follow Abelas as the Sentinel paces.

"Not usually, but I must question this one," he says, his voice even as he turns to Fen'Harel. Natia watches, incredulous, as she has never seen anyone talk back to Fen'Harel. "I do not understand why we cannot simply use one of our scouts for this. They will not require such extensive, ridiculous training."

"If I did not think her capable," Fen'Harel says, his voice frighteningly even, "I would not have chosen her. I would appreciate more faith in my instincts, old friend." There is a long silence in which Fen'Harel and Abelas watch each other. Finally, Abelas turns to glare at Natia, whose eyes drop to her lap, before storming out.

Another long, awkward silence.

"I am sorry you had to witness that," Fen'Harel finally says with a sigh. "He does not often lose his patience so easily."

"Maybe he's right," Natia says, her eyes flickering up to Fen'Harel. "It's...it's been weeks, and I still cannot do it right. Could it be that you've simply just misjudged?"

"No," he answers almost immediately, making Natia look up in surprise. "I know that I have chosen the right elf for this task. I have no doubts about it." He sighs after a moment and stands. "Give me a moment; I will speak with him." The doors to his chambers swing open and he steps out. Abelas is standing across the room, turned towards a window. Fen'Harel approaches, and it seems Abelas is expecting him, as he turns the moment Fen'Harel claps a hand on his shoulder.

They speak quietly, and Natia can just barely make out that they're speaking in Elven. Occasionally, they glance back into the room at her, making her squirm uncomfortably. At one point, Abelas appears to be getting heated again, but Fen'Harel quickly calms him down.

Finally, they return, and Abelas sits across from her. Fen'Harel leans against his desk once more.

Abelas looks at her firmly before saying, "Let's do it again."

When Natia finally gets it right, two weeks later, Fen'Harel sends her back to the main floor early as a reward. They spend another week on it before Fen'Harel decides to move on.

"Here," he says when Natia shuts the door one morning. He lifts a chainmail bodysuit from the back of the chair and hands it to her. He also hands her a lavender cloth, with a hole for her head and metal loops on the shoulders. "Put this on. You may change behind the screen." Natia is bemused, but moves behind the screen and undresses anyway.

"Why am I changing into armor, if I may ask?"

"I have all my scouts wear armor that is either this exact design or something similar. I have made sure that Inquisition scouts have spotted my scouts in this armor, so that they will recognize who you are."

"I can't tell them that myself?" she asks curiously, securing the chainmail. The breeze blowing through the open windows brushes against the openings in the armor and she shivers. After a moment, she realizes that Fen'Harel has ignored her question. It puts an unsettling feeling in her gut.

She drapes the lavender cloth over herself, securing the clasps on the chainmail where they line up with the leather hooks. Stepping out from behind the screen, she accepts the belt that Fen'Harel offers her and secures it around her waist. She tugs on the cloth until it's not pulling on the clasps.

He continues to give her more leather guards and she puts them on a little clumsily. She rarely wore armor before, and almost never does now. When she's finished and is wrapping the scarf around her neck, Fen'Harel directs her to adjust the armor where needed.

"If you'll be playing the part of one of my scouts," he explains, "you'll need to look like you put this armor on every day. So, that's what we're going to work on now."

He starts going through the different pieces of armor, and how to properly secure them like a true scout of Fen'Harel.

"Why not just train me like an actual scout?" she asks as she begins taking the guards off for the thirds time.

"My scouts are some of my most trusted people," he answers, his eyes following every movement her hands make. "I trained them for years, long before I called the others to this temple." He shrugs. "I suppose, in a way, I _am_ training you like an actual scout, but it is the bare bones version. We do not have the time for me to properly train you."

"Then...why _didn't_ you use one of your scouts?" she asks, following his murmured instruction to tighten a buckle. "You said yourself: they are your most trusted agents."

"Yes, and there are very few of them right now," he sighs. "I need all my scouts at my side."

"I see," she says, a sudden bitter edge to her voice. "You chose me because I'm expendable."

"I suppose so, in a way," he answers, watching her pull on an arm guard a bit too roughly. "But I also chose you because you worked with the Inquisition, and already have some scout training. Even if it was not specifically referred to as such."

"What does that mean?"

"You can shoot remarkably well, and you have skills that, if honed, could make you a very formidable rogue." He sighs and shakes his head. "I wish only that I had the time to help you hone such skills."

She pauses, watching him, and he looks at her curiously. "Why now?" she asks. "Why not wait until I am trained?"

Fen'Harel is silent for a moment. "Because the Inquisitor has become more determined in her search for me. If we cannot stall them for a little longer, at least, then we could lose everything I've worked for."

"And...what is it that you are working so hard for?" she asks carefully, her eyes taking in every change of expression that his face makes.

He's silent for a moment before shaking his head. "I will tell you, all of you, when the time is right." That frustrates her, but she keeps quiet. His tone made it very obvious that she's pushing her boundaries.

It takes less time to get used to the armor, thankfully. After a week of constantly putting it on and removing it, Fen'Harel seems pleased enough with how she puts it on and tells her that they can move on. She wants to jump for joy.

He pulls an ornate bow out from behind his desk, and Natia goes pale just from looking at its beauty.

"Each of my scouts own and use bows similar to this," he says, holding it out to her.

"All of your scouts are archers?" she asks as she takes it from his hands with awe. The craftsmanship is stunning and the balance is incredible. It was clearly made with love. She hardly feels worthy touching it, let alone possibly using it.

"No," he answers with a chuckle, "but they are trained in ranged offense, just in case they need it." He watches her run her fingers over the carved vines that twist around the bow's limbs. "Do you think you could shoot it without practice?"

"Not without _some_ practice," she admits with a laugh. To test how it feels, she draws it without an arrow. It takes a moment to adjust to the weight and balance of it. She's careful not to fire and slowly guides the string back to its original position. "It wouldn't take very long, though."

Fen'Harel nods and has her change, giving back the bow before sending her back to the main floor with promises that she can practice with the bow tomorrow. Natia is practically buzzing with excitement. She can feel it in her gut; their training is almost over.

 

* * *

 

 

[Here](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/dragonage/images/a/a1/VirBanalRis.png/revision/latest?cb=20150311043540) is the armor, in case you wanted a reference!


	5. Venturing Forth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Hope you're enjoying everything! As always, all translations will be at the end! Constructive criticism is always cherished and appreciated, as are comments/kudos in general <3
> 
> NOTE: This chapter contains references to sex and graphic violence! Reader discretion is advised!

Ilain moves to sit by Natia, who is watching the children play a game, and wraps an arm around her shoulders. Of course, Natia's absences were not unnoticed by her clan, but she could never answer their questions directly. Dodging them became easier once Fen'Harel began teaching her the intricacies of lying.

"Is it dangerous, _ma len_? What Fen'Harel is having you do?"

Natia is silent for a moment, thinking. "Not if I do it right, _mamae_ , which I intend to do." Ilain considers this and nods, kissing her daughter's temple.

"I suppose I should feel blessed that he has chosen you for a task, but...I cannot ignore this feeling in my heart." Natia can see tears forming in Ilain's eyes. "My instincts...they are certain that I am going to lose you to this task. They are screaming at me to make you stay, to keep you safe." A shaky breath leaves her as she dips her head.

Natia feels her own tears forming and pulls her mother into a tight hug.

"I know what I'm doing, _mamae_ ," she whispers into greying hair. "You're going to see me again, I swear it." Ilain nods, clinging onto Natia like she's the only thing keeping her tethered.

It creeps in slowly through supper and as she's preparing for bed. The doubt. The anxiety that perhaps she isn't cut out for spying on the Inquisition. The most spy work Natia has done was sitting in trees and eavesdropping on bandits or Venatori.

Even with all the practicing, she knows in her heart that it is still possible to fail.

Athim slips into her bedroll later in the night, pulling her close despite the fact that she's shaking.

"You don't have to do this," he whispers into her hair. "He will not punish you if you tell him no."

"I know," she says. "But I want to. I have worked so hard. And if I do this right...things will be better for us. I feel it in my gut." Athim just sighs and peppers kisses along her skin.

"I don't know how I'll get by without you."

"There's bound to be another girl here willing to screw the anger out of you," she teases, grinning as he scowls.

"You know what I mean. You've been my partner in all respects since our clans arrived." He goes silent for too long. "Natia, I know I'm a real ass most of the time, but I want you to know that—"

She shushes him with a kiss. "Shut up. That sounds too much like a goodbye and I don't want to hear that." With a bit of maneuvering, she slides on top of him and kisses him a bit harder. "Now stay quiet, or else we'll wake the clan."

The next morning, Athim is not in her bedroll, and she is being roused awake by the Keeper.

"It's Abelas," she whispers, tears swimming in her eyes. "He's come to take you to Fen'Harel."

She dresses while chewing on a mint leaf, sparsely running her fingers through her hair. It's time, she can feel it.

He's standing in the main room, looking very uncomfortable with the small Dalish children making faces in his shiny armor. She wonders if he's escorting her all the way to Skyhold, since he's dressed in his Sentinel armor.

He looks relieved to see her and peels the children off of him, starting toward the door.

Ilain approaches Natia, teary-eyed, and hands her a small drawstring pouch.

"Some small things for you to remember home by," she says with a wink and a smile. "Only open it when you really miss us, yes?" Natia smiles through her tears and hugs her mother tight. "Oh, how I'll miss you. Try to write when you can."

"I will, _mamae_ ," she promises, kissing her mother's temple before pulling away. Keeper Elise gathers her in a tight hug next, pressing multiple kisses into her hair.

"Oh, I'll miss you so much!"

"I'll miss you as well, Keeper," Natia says, then whispers, "What did you tell the clan?"

"Just that you have things you need to do for Fen'Harel for a little while," Keeper Elise whispers, then releases her with a smile and kisses her forehead.

She gives hugs and chaste kisses to the rest of the adults, then kneels down to be tackled by the children. The teenagers are less inclined to give her hugs, but hold her tightly when she convinces them.

Abelas is clearly growing impatient, so Natia hurries to his side. The clan try to pull her in for a second round of goodbyes, but at that point the Sentinel is practically dragging her out of the room.

The path to Fen'Harel's chambers is familiar, walked a hundred times, and she's able to keep up with Abelas. When he opens the door, the Dread Wolf is emerging from behind a screen, fiddling with a buckle. Abelas and Natia bow and Fen'Harel bids them rise before shooing off Abelas.

When she finishes putting her armor on, he steps back to appraise her. Natia squirms uncomfortably at his stare, but he finally nods before handing her a quiver, which she pulls over her head. After securing her new bow on her back, she takes the pouch of her clan's trinkets and moves to tie it to her belt. Fen'Harel catches her wrist, plucking the pouch from her fingertips.

"What's this?" he asks, gently opening it and peering inside.

"It's from my mother. It's some trinkets from the clan." She watches him anxiously, desperately hoping he doesn't make her hand them over.

After a moment, he nods and closes the pouch, handing it over. "I see. Keep it safe, then." Natia nods, tying it tightly to her belt.

Fen'Harel, seemingly satisfied, leads her to the door. Natia remembers something and turns to face him. "How should I contact you if I need to?" It wasn't something they had discussed. Fen'Harel just smirks.

"Do not worry. I'll be contacting you very often." That confuses her, but Abelas is already opening the door and pulling her from the room before she can ask about it. She tries to ask the Sentinel as they walk down the hall, but he dodges the question almost professionally.

They enter the second level and start towards the main floor, but Abelas turns suddenly and starts walking down a new path, approaching a door. When it opens, Natia finds that it's a plain room with only an oversized mirror at the other side.

"What is this?" she asks, running her fingers over the frame.

"An Eluvian," Abelas answers. "It was how my people traveled between cities." He smirks at her bemused expression. "Why do you think there are no weathered Elven roads?"

Her mouth opens in realization, though she snaps it shut at Abelas' smirk. He turns towards the Eluvian and says something in Elven. The Eluvian roars to life, a blue shimmer covering the glass. Natia reaches out to touch it in awe and jumps when her hand passes through. Abelas laughs and walks into the mirror, disappearing on the other side. Dumbfounded, Natia walks around to the back of the mirror, in case the Sentinel is trying to prank her.

Finding nothing there, she walks back to the front and leans forward, trying to see to the other side. An armored arm appears suddenly and grabs her own, pulling her through the mirror. It's a strange feeling, like being pulled into a cold pool, only she emerges dry.

The world she emerges into is...beautiful. The sky is pink and there is a shimmering, opalescent sheen to it. Waterfalls pour into an abyss from the edges of the rocky platform they stand on, and the trees have bright pink blossoms on them that smell heavenly. Best of all, it's welcoming. The entire area feels like home, as though her clan is about to round the corner and greet her. Abelas gives her a moment to look around in awe.

"What is this place?" she whispers, reaching out to run her fingertips over a pink blossom.

"A woman I met calls it The Crossroads. The real name for it is...long forgotten, so we now call it that." Natia mouths the name, commits it and the sights to her memory.

"It's...wonderful." Abelas gently takes her elbow and guides her down a path, towards another, shining Eluvian.

"Fen'Harel controls all of them, so do not get any ideas." Natia rolls her eyes, allowing the Sentinel to guide her. She takes one last look before he gently coaxes her through the Eluvian. She steps into a ruined, dusty room.

He guides her out of the room and through the ruins. They seem human, Tevinter maybe? She wonders why an Elven artifact would be in Tevinter ruins. She wants to smack herself when she remembers the relationship between Elves and Tevinter. _I spent too long in that temple._

They step out into a forest. She feels something in the air that resonates with the Elven inside her. Her heart grows heavy with melancholy and loneliness, as though the trees themselves are reaching out to her. Her heart aches for them, for the souls in them.

"We're in the Graves, aren't we?" she asks of Abelas, who nods solemnly. She breathes the fresh air in deep and places a hand gently on a nearby tree, craning her neck to look at its highest branches. "Rest easy, _lethallan_ ," she murmurs, "you're with the Creators, now." She thinks she feels the sadness ease a little.

Abelas makes a face at the mention of the Creators, but allows her to say her prayer. Then, he begins walking. Many creatures cross their path, including some that they are forced to sneak away from. A Great Bear nearly catches their scent, and Abelas is forced to pick up Natia and sprint away.

They walk for what feels like the longest time before coming upon a small meadow. She follows him to the center of it. Wildflowers sway in the breeze, and the sun warms the spots in her armor where her skin is exposed.

"Are you ready?" he asks, and she frowns in confusion.

"Ready for what?"

"Just remember," he says, ignoring her question. His whole body tenses, like he's preparing for something. "Exaggerate your lie if necessary, if you think it will help. Fen'Harel cares not for his reputation. Make them hate him. I am about to make that easier."

Natia opens her mouth to ask for an explanation, but Abelas doesn't give her a chance before he hits her.

She feels a scream tear itself from her throat as she flies through the air, but doesn't register telling her voice to do that. Her body slams into a tree, and another wail echoes off the boulders nearby.

The pain makes her see stars and she sinks to the forest floor, gasping for the air that was ripped from her body. Natia can't remember ever feeling such blinding pain before and she's certain she won't soon forget it.

Somehow, he's next to her in seconds, hitting her wherever he can get his fists to connect. His eyes are feral, as though he's lost all control, yet she can tell he pulls his punches whenever he hits her face. He's also careful not to break any bones, though she thinks she may have broken her ankle when she flew against the tree.

He picks her up by the throat and slams her into the tree. Tears flow freely as her mind seems to finally catch up with what's happening.

" _Fen'Harel cares not for his reputation."_

_"I have made sure that Inquisition scouts have spotted my scouts in this armor, so that they will recognize who you are."_

She screams louder than before, crying for someone to help her, for Abelas to show mercy. Anything that might get the attention of nearby scouts. He keeps his grip loose enough that she can still breathe, but only barely. He throws her again. She lands in the center of the clearing, crushing wildflowers underneath her.

She rolls onto her back, wheezing, to find Abelas drawing a dagger. He straddles her, pinning her down with his heavy armor.

" _Ir abelas_ ," he whispers. He cuts a large gash into her cheek, ignoring her screams as he drags his dagger across whatever skin is visible. He rips her beautiful armor, tears into the chainmail and the cloth. Her mind fogs up, forgetting that this is intentional, and she begins to fight him as her instincts take over. She pushes at his body, bangs on his armor and his face with her fists, screams for someone to help her.

A branch snaps. Followed by two more.

Abelas' head whips around to look behind him, and then he's on his feet. There's a split second in which he gives her a hard look. She blinks, and he's gone.

People rush to her side, but the pain is coming in waves. Natia rolls onto her side and sobs, curling into herself in an attempt to make it go away. People are touching her, picking her up, rubbing poultices on her, asking her name, but her mind hardly registers it.

"Abelas," she gasps, "you have to catch him."

"Abelas?" one person, a dark-skinned man with the loveliest eyes, asks incredulously. "The Sentinel?"

"Please," she whispers hoarsely, "don't let him get away."

She sees tents in the distance before she finally passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ma len: my child (constructed)  
> mamae: mother  
> lethallan: casual reference to someone who is familiar. often used as a term of endearment.  
> ir abelas: I'm sorry


	6. The Cavalry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late!! Several different issues popped up, but hopefully everything will be back on a regular schedule now! Please enjoy! As always, all translations will be at the end.
> 
> NOTE: No warnings that I could tell, but let me know if you think I should add one!!

Her eyes don't open when she wakes up, not yet. Not when there are voices still talking. One, a feminine but hoarse voice, is arguing that they should put her in shackles.

"She's clearly one of _them_ —"

"She identified her attacker as Abelas!" another voice, also deep but smoother than the last, pipes up. "We've identified him as one of Solas' agents, yet he was trying to beat one of his own scouts to death? It doesn't make sense. I just think we should hear what she has to say before we throw her in the dungeons."

"She was barely conscious when she identified Abelas," a higher voice says. They sigh. "We should wait, though. She's ex-Inquisition and I've worked with her before. We need to see why she was so close to our camp and why Abelas attacked her, preferably _before_ we make any decisions."

Silence. And then: "It's your call, Harding. You're in charge now, after all."

The name causes her to "wake up". Natia opens her eyes and coughs, groaning at the pain that causes her.

The three voices all murmur at once for a moment before she hears footsteps. The man from before pokes his head into her field of vision. He looks very concerned and helps her slowly sit up. Behind him, she can see a woman, Harding, talking in soft voices to a dark-haired Rivaini woman in Grey Warden armor.

"Are you alright?" the man asks, and she recognizes his voice as the one that was arguing on her side.

"Everything hurts," she manages to say past the dryness in her throat. "How long have I been out?"

"Just a few days," he answers. He picks up a cup and raises it to her lips. "It's just water. I'm sure you could use some." She accepts the water, trying to drink it greedily, but the man pulls it away before she can. "Slowly, _messere_ , lest you get an upset stomach. I'm sure you don't need that added onto your ailments." She can't help but smile around the rim of the cup as she drinks slowly.

Once half of the water is gone, the man returns it to the table. Behind him, the Warden sighs in frustration before practically stomping out of the tent. Harding turns to find Natia and the man watching her.

"Sorry about that," Harding says, approaching the bed and sitting on the end of it. Natia had forgotten how pretty Harding is. Lovely hazel green eyes and a face peppered with freckles. Her hair is not in the braid Natia remembers, but instead pulled into a loose bun. Sandy brown locks curl around her cheeks, and Natia has to avert her eyes to keep from staring openly. Instead, she looks at the man, who is telling Harding about how Natia drank half a cup of water while the dwarf was talking to the Warden.

"I'm Barris, by the way," he says to Natia, interrupting himself. "Delrin Barris."

Her brows furrow in bemusement. "The templar Knight-Commander?" Barris smiles.

" _Ex_ -Knight Commander, ever since Divine Victoria dismantled the Circles." Barris and Harding share knowing smiles. "I work purely for the Inquisition now." Natia nods.

"I'm Natia."

"It's a pleasure, Natia." Barris takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, making the elven girl smile bashfully. Harding clears her throat.

"How are you feeling? Besides the...everywhere pain."

Natia frowns and sighs. "My head is kind of fuzzy...and I'm really hungry."

Harding nods. "Okay. Do you think you'd be able to tell us what happened after eating some food?" Natia could tell them right now, if she wanted to, but food sounds wonderful. Plus, it would give her extra time to run through the story, and fix it in wake of Abelas nearly beating the elven out of her.

The pair stand in unison and it almost makes Natia smile. They have probably been working together for years.

Once they're gone from the tent, Natia sighs and examines herself. She's bandaged up in various places, mostly where Abelas had cut her. The areas where her skin is exposed are covered in dark, stiff bruises that throb dully. Upon removing the blanket, she finds that someone has placed a makeshift splint on her ankle, which throbs a little more noticeably.

" _Elgar'nan_ , Abelas," she whispers in disbelief. "You didn't have to go so far."

But he did, and she knew it. If her injuries hadn't been so extreme, if she hadn't been half-conscious when they found her, they never would have believed it.

She swings her legs over the side of the bed, but makes no move to stand. It feels good just to sit up and breathe.

After a couple minutes, Barris and Harding re-enter the tent with a bowl of hot stew. It's no elven stew, but it still tastes like paradise. Barris makes her eat slowly, much to Harding's amusement. When Natia finishes, Barris guides her through the last half of her water. He refills it and sets it back on the table for later.

Harding's relaxed expression disappears as she pulls up two chairs. Her and Barris sit, their expressions firm.

"Natia," Harding says, "I need you to tell us everything."

Natia stops fiddling with her bandages and looks between them. Then, she speaks.

She tells the first part of her story honestly. Her clan's arrival to Fen'Harel's haven, the removal of their vallaslin, and living among the elves of other clans. Only she exaggerates. Immensely. The implied threat regarding their vallaslin becomes a blatant one, and she overemphasizes the roughness of the mages that were sent to help soothe her burning face.

She inflates Abelas' personality, painting him as cruel and abusive toward the Dalish rather than just disdainful of them. She recalls fights between clans as much more savage and bloodier than they were, and makes it a point to mention that Fen'Harel and his agents would do nothing to stop the fighting.

She exaggerates Fen'Harel's disapproval of worshipping the Creators. She remarks false stories about elves being whipped and made examples of if they were caught worshipping the _Evanuris_.

It's harder than when she was with Fen'Harel. She's hyper aware of every movement, every fluctuation and tone with which she says each word. One screw up, one show of a tell, and that's the end of it.

Somehow, by the graces of the Creators, she makes it through with only a few questions of clarification from Harding. By the time she gets into the attack, Harding and Barris look furious.

"I just wanted to get away," she says, tearing up for the third time in her story. "I couldn't stay in that Creator-forsaken place anymore, and...Fen'Harel is in control of these strange mirrors that take you somewhere else."

"Eluvians," Harding informs her. Natia nods in confirmation.

"I followed one of his agents through one and...I just ran. I ran to the nearest one and it spit me out here. I didn't stop running, until...." She closes her eyes and pretends to steel herself, as though remembering the attack is going to send her into a panic. Barris places a supportive hand on her knee, encouraging her to continue.

"Sentinels are like...the inbetween. They're not quite gods, like Fen'Harel, but they aren't like me and my people. He must have abilities, that's the only thing that could explain how he caught up to me so fast. He...he demanded that I return, and when I refused, he...." The shaking that starts is real as she remembers the real fear and the real panic. "Well. You saw what he did to me."

Harding shakes her head. "Those bastards. I'm going to kill that elf myself."

"Thank you for telling this to us," Barris says softly, squeezing her knee reassuringly. He looks to Harding. "I'm going to go start a report to send back to Skyhold." Harding nods and Barris stands, giving Natia one last reassuring smile before leaving the tent.

"What's going to happen now?" Natia asks Harding. The dwarf blows out a long breath and shrugs.

"I honestly don't know. The report should get back to Skyhold within the week, if our crow flies fast. From there, it all depends on what the Inquisitor wants to do. She may want to come down here and hear your story, or have us take you to Skyhold and tell it there." Harding thinks for a moment. "Are there any Dalish clans that you could go to?"

Natia shakes her head. "All the ones we know are with Fen'Harel—"

"—and even if not, his agents could find you if you were with one," Harding finishes, nodding. "Right."

Natia looks at Harding, wide-eyed. "Are you going to leave me here?"

The dwarf shakes her head. "Not by yourself. We could have you stay with one of the permanent camps or we could take you back to Skyhold. It's hard to say right now. The Inquisitor makes the final call."

Natia looks down at her hands. "For a second there, I didn't think anyone was going to hear me."

"It would be hard not to. You were practically at our camp when it happened." Harding sighs. "I'm just glad we got to you in time. It looked like he was about to finish you off." Natia flinches and Harding grimaces. "Sorry. Too soon."

"Thank you," Natia says after a moment. "I would be dead if not for you all."

"I'm sure our Warden friend would have preferred that," Harding mutters bitterly, rolling her eyes. At Natia's curious look, she shakes her head. "You'll meet her soon enough. Try not to punch her."

Someone calls Harding from outside and she stands, patting Natia's knee. "Get some more rest. If we end up having to go back to Skyhold, you'll need your strength. I'll send for a healer to help." With that, she exits the tent.

For a moment, Natia just sits there, trying to calm her pounding heart. It worked. She convinced two people at practically the top of the Inquisition.

All she needs to do now is convince the Inquisitor.


	7. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy :D as always, all translations are at the end!
> 
> Note: Once again, no warnings! Let me know if you think I should add one <3

Recovery is slow going. A healer, a Qunari mage named Kilané, is brought from one of the permanent camps to help as best she can. Natia's ankle isn't broken, as she had assumed, but it will still take some time to heal. She heals Natia's more prominent bruises and some cuts. Some are too deep; the best she can do is seal them to help speed the process.

Every day at noon, Barris carries Natia to Kilané for an hour-long healing session.

"Why must we do it like this?" she asks her during a session one day.

"Well, if I try to heal the bone too quickly, something might go wrong," Kilané explains. "The bone might set incorrectly from either the healing being rushed or too much magic in one area at once." She shrugs. "It's entirely possible to do it in one session, but it's risky."

The dark-haired Warden is quick to introduce herself in the first few days. Warden Elwin Lareen. She is also quick to make it clear that she doesn't trust Natia as far as she can throw her. When Natia points out that she can probably throw her pretty far, she glares and huffs and stomps out of the tent like a child.

According to Harding, she's supposed to be the ambassador between the Chantry/Inquisition and the new Grey Warden Order that came out of the civil war in Weisshaupt.

At one point, Harding says it wasn't really a civil war, but a spat between leaders that led to some strong-arming until the First Warden stepped down. Warden Lareen looks like she wants to wring her neck, and Natia watches the ensuing argument with delight until Barris has to come break it up.

During those few weeks it takes to recover, Natia also meets a young warrior named Malina. As Harding's second, she is tasked with bringing Natia food whenever Barris or Harding are busy. She has one brown eye and one blue, and the way the sunlight shines off her auburn hair makes her look almost ethereal. Natia might be biased, though; her mother says that those with bi-colored eyes are smiled upon by the Creators.

They bond quickly over making fun of Warden Lareen. And also remarking on her attractiveness.

"If only she wasn't such a _bâtard_ ," Malina laments, sighing overdramatically as they watch her toss logs into the fire. She looks up at the pair, as if hearing them, and Natia makes a crude hand gesture at her. Malina laughs as Lareen scowls.

Finally, after a week and a half, Kilané finishes the healing sessions and says that Natia is ready to start trying to walk again. Barris, Harding, and Malina take turns walking Natia around her tent.

It's harder when Harding takes her turn, due to her height, but Natia likes spending time with her. They got along well before Fen'Harel called the elves to him, and that doesn't seem to have changed much. They banter like old friends and tease each other mercilessly. It's a little harder to get Harding to talk about herself, however. Natia wonders what happened in the years between then and now.

Barris, however, is more than happy to talk about himself. Not in a vain way, she assumes, but in a way that is meant to help her feel more comfortable. He talks about growing up in Ferelden and being sent to the templars at age twelve. He tells her about the chaos that was Dragon's Peak, and that she shouldn't believe anything in the supposed book about it. He's very humble and succeeds at helping her feel more relaxed in the camp.

Malina is something in-between, she surmises. She talks about herself when Natia asks, but doesn't go out of her way to do so like Barris. She grew up among the nobility of Orlais, and often experienced the famed Great Game firsthand. She says it scared her all the way to Denerim, where she trained in the city guard before eventually finding her way to the Inquisition.

She doesn't answer questions about her family, Natia notices. She dodges the questions expertly and changes the subject so smoothly that Natia doesn't realize it's happened until much later. The elf figures that Malina was better at the Game than she lets on.

Soon, Natia is able to move from walking around the tent to walking around camp. She's able to walk a little faster now, almost a jog. Those weeks pass in a blur and soon Natia is going for runs with the rest of the camp in the mornings and being given small chores to complete. She can feel her strength slowly returning, and she starts doing exercises she learned in the clan, to help rebuild her agility and flexibility.

She nearly gives Warden Lareen a heart attack when she drops down next to her suddenly from a tree. She spends nearly an hour scolding her, getting more angry every time Natia fails to suppress a giggle. Harding saves her eventually, scolding her half-heartedly through a smile.

"We're practically the same age," Natia explains. "So, naturally, I find it hilarious that she thinks she can scold me like I'm a child."

"She's used to being high ranked with the Wardens," Harding reminds her. "I'm sure the sudden lack of power is very emasculating."

When Harding thinks she's ready to join them on a hunting trip, she presents Natia with the bow that Fen'Harel gave her.

"Ironbark is some strong stuff," she says. "There isn't even a crack. The string did snap, though, so I fixed that up myself. It's just waiting to be used."

Natia wants to cry when she feels the smooth Ironbark against her fingertips once more. It's difficult at first, since it has been almost a month since she fired a bow, but after an hour or so she's reacquainted with her favorite hobby.

She spends extra time with the trinkets from her clan that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a bit of a shorter chapter, somewhat of a filler to help introduce characters. We'll be back to moving the plot next weekend :D
> 
> Also, my french is very rough, as I only took two years of it in high school. I'll be using a translator for most of the time, please let me know if you see any mistakes!
> 
> bâtard: bastard


	8. Skyhold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy <3 thank you for the support! It means more than y'all know :D
> 
> NOTE: Once again, no warnings! Unless you count whiny Wardens ;D

Finally, after almost three months, their crow comes back.

When the report arrives, Harding leaves the tent in order to read it. Natia wants to throw up from anxiety by the time she comes back, Barris hot on her heels.

"So," Harding begins, "the Inquisitor has too much she has to take care of to come all the way out here. We're packing up tomorrow and are going to head back to Skyhold as soon as possible." Natia nods, biting her lips anxiously. Harding seems to notice and smiles. "Don't worry, she's not nearly as intimidating as people make her out to be." Barris grins and nods in enthusiastic agreement.

That night is the first that Fen'Harel visits her in her dreams.

Well, technically it's the Fade, but those are the same to a non-mage like Natia.

She's sitting somewhere, in her dream, and Fen'Harel suddenly walks up and sits next to her. Everything feels different, then. As if she's woken up, yet she knows that she's still asleep. Fen'Harel simply being there made her aware of everything.

"I'm really bad at remembering dreams," is all she says.

"I'm certain you'll remember these ones," is all he says back. He waves his hand, and they're sitting at the edge of a pond. Her feet are in the water, but they don't feel wet. Strange.

They sit there, watching the water, before Fen'Harel asks, "Do you have anything to report?"

"They bought my story," she answers, swirling her feet around in the pond. "We're starting the journey back to Skyhold tomorrow so I can tell my story to the Inquisitor."

He bristles at the mention of the Inquisitor, but says nothing about it. "How are your injuries healing? Abelas reports that he...was not forgiving."

"He couldn't afford to be," she assures him. "They had to believe that Abelas was punishing me for betraying you."

"Still, he asked me to apologize for being so rough." Her brow arches. That's new.

"I accept his apology, and forgive him. That's...rather unlike him." Fen'Harel chuckles.

"Abelas is no soulless husk; he knows when he's gone too far." Natia falls silent at that.

"Is this how I'm going to give all my reports to you?" she asks after a moment.

"I don't see why not," he answers, "it's private, reliable, and at no risk of being intercepted by a spymaster." Fen'Harel shrugs.

"So...how is this going to work, now?" she asks. "I thought you said I'm going in as a double agent."

"Well, once you're settled into Skyhold, I will send a letter granting you one more chance if you spy on the Inquisition," he explains. "If it's not intercepted by the spymaster, which is unlikely, then you will take it to them yourself. If my assumptions are correct, they will ask you to accept and will give you fake reports to pass along, all while you give me real reports here, like this."

"I...think I understood that." Fen'Harel laughs, patting her knee reassuringly.

"Don't worry, you will understand as it plays out. It is confusing when explained all at once." He looks out at the Fade, spread out before him, and Natia watches him.

"...you're different here." He looks down at her, brow quirked in bemusement. "You're more relaxed. I don't feel like I have to watch what I say as much."

"I've always been more comfortable in the Fade," he explains, then gives her a firm look. "But do not think you can be completely casual with me, child." The Fade seems to bend around his sternness, darkening slightly. Natia nods obediently, and the light returns.

"Dawn is approaching. I'm afraid I must take my leave." He stands and the pond disappears. The Fade becomes shapeless once more as she stands with him.

"When will I speak with you again?" she asks and he considers the question.

"I cannot say for sure. It will be soon, however. I will want to hear what the Inquisitor makes of your story." He turns to her and she bows out of habit. "Farewell, Natia."

She wakes just as Harding is entering her tent, probably to wake her.

"Morning!" the dwarf greets cheerfully. "There's breakfast outside; Malina made sure to make you a plate before Waren Lareen ate all of it." She rolls her eyes. "Damn Warden metabolism."

"It must speak volumes about their stamina, though," Natia says suggestively, winking at Harding's dumbfounded stare. They both start laughing as Natia dresses.

"She's attractive, sure, but _definitely_ not my type."

"What _is_ your type, then?"

Harding shrugs and says, "Not her." Natia giggles and follows Harding outside. Malina waves her over with a grin, scooting over to make room in the little circle surrounding the campfire.

After breakfast, Natia helps pack up the camp as best she can. There aren't enough horses to accommodate their unexpected guest ("I knew I was forgetting something!" Harding laments), so she rides on Barris' horse with him. He continues to tell her tales long after she thinks he ran out.

Halfway through the trip, she has built up enough strength to join the hunting party. Harding seems impressed by her improved skills, and Natia can't help but blush when the dwarf compliments her. Barris notices, because _of course_ he does, and the rest of the journey with him is unbearable. But in the same way that riding on a Hart with Athim would be. Just...without all the sexual tension.

The whole trip takes about a month—with weather and detours and time needed to set up camp and hunt when supplies were low—and she can practically feel Barris vibrating with excitement when Skyhold appears in the distance. "I have someone waiting there that I am very excited to see," is all he says when she questions him about it.

When the air gets cooler, Natia shivers even in her cozy Inquisition armor. Barris shows her where the clasp for his cloak is, so she can remove it from him and put it on. She's hesitant at first ("Won't you get cold?"), but he's insistent ("I'm tougher than I look!").

The castle is even grander than Natia thought it would be. For a long time after her last mission with the Inquisition, she fantasized about traveling to the famed castle. Of walking its ancient walls, feeling the history resonating off the stone.

Now that she's here, however, it is less exciting.

_If only it could have been under better circumstances._

The horses climb the rows of steps easily, having probably done so a hundred times, and Natia's anxiety finally catches up with her as they cross the stone bridge. The large gate is raised and there is a small crowd gathered by it. Natia instinctively pulls on the cloak's hood, covering her face in shadow.

The whispers are too many and too low to truly make anything out, but Natia is too busy staring in awe at what she can see under the cloak.

For a castle in the middle of the Frostbacks, everything is surprisingly...green. She suspects magic has something to do with that. Indeed, the air inside the castle walls feels strangely warm. Grass and wildflowers sway in the cool breeze that slips off the surrounding mountains. A stray curl flies in her face, the end getting caught in her mouth.

The horses are guided to the stables, where Barris helps Natia dismount.

"You don't have to wear the cloak anymore," he informs her gently. He bends slightly to meet her eyes under the hood, but she avoids his gaze. He seems to understand and nods with a gentle smile.

He's much taller than her, however, and his cloak repeatedly gets caught on the grass as they walk. As they begin climbing the steps to a second level, she has to pull the sides of the cloak tighter against herself so that the soldiers behind her don't step on it.

The second level is just as alive with people, who all seem to immediately notice the group climbing the steps. The soldiers scatter once they reach the second level, and Malina squeezes Natia's shoulder encouragingly before running off towards a large wooden building.

"Do you know where she is?" Warden Lareen asks, bringing up the rear as the four of them begin climbing a third set of steps. This one is high off the ground and without railings. Natia sticks close to Barris as they climb.

"The war room, probably," Harding answers, seeming to relax as they enter the main hall. The lighting is warm and inviting, with Fereldan decor covering the hall from end to end. It seems as though they have walked in on dinner, as the air is rich with the smells of cooked meats, and people are seated at the main tables or scattered about, some eating while standing. Many of them look like nobles.

"I can't remember the last time it was this busy," Barris mutters to himself.

Most of the patrons look up as the quartet pass, and Natia keeps her face hidden. Soon, the same whispers that greeted them at the gate are falling over the main hall.

Natia sighs in relief when they veer into a hallway, then into a small office. She finally removes her hood after Barris repeatedly assures her that there won't be any more crowds for the time being. The room gets too warm after a moment and she unclasps the cloak, handing it back to Barris. Harding turns to Warden Lareen.

"We can take it from here, Warden. If you like, you can sit here and we'll inform you of how it went when we return." Lareen's face twists the same way it does when Natia pesters her with questions.

"Considering I was there when she was found—"

"I'm sure your side of the story will be of interest to the Inquisitor at a later date, Warden. Since you are not one of her advisors, however, you aren't needed for this part," Harding says calmly, but firmly. Lareen looks livid.

As they debate this, Natia watches Barris walk over to the desk in the corner of the room. He scowls visibly at the stack of mail that's piled on it.

"Yours, I assume?" she asks with a small smile. He frowns.

"Unfortunately. I don't think I was quite aware of what would come with being an Ambassador. I do wish Lady Montilyet had warned me." The last bit is muttered as he starts sorting through the mail.

"Are...all of the Inquisitor's original advisors gone?" Natia asks curiously. Fen'Harel would want to know these details. She steps closer, trying to peer at the envelopes without being obvious about it. Most seem to be from noble houses across Thedas.

Barris catches her, and dramatically turns the papers away from him with a playful grin. "Lady Josephine and Commander Cullen returned to their respective countries once the Inquisitor shrunk our forces down. Sister Nightingale is, as you know, the Divine now, so she had to leave. Now it's me, Commander Harding, and Charter." He sets down the envelopes with a sigh. "That's going to take me all night."

"Charter is the new Spymaster, then?" she asks, brows furrowing. Another nod from Barris.

"Leliana—I mean, Divine Victoria, mentored her for the job personally." Natia's heart begins pounding. That's as bad as if Leliana herself were listening to Natia's story. Barris seems to notice her anxiety and grins. "Don't worry, she won't harm you without reason." That doesn't help.

Warden Lareen and Harding seem to come to something of an agreement, even though it has Lareen yanking open the door and stomping out. Harding approaches the pair, looking exasperated.

"Alright, Natia," she says, trying to look encouraging. "Are you ready?"

_Not at all_. "Absolutely," she says, managing a nervous smile. Here goes nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah. I'm not sure how I felt about this chapter. Something felt off to me. I do hope you guys liked it, though! Up next, the Inquisitor!


	9. The Main Event

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry this chapter is so late, I haven't had a lot of time to work on this story like I used to. I hope you enjoy, nonetheless! As always, all translations are at the end!
> 
> NOTE: There's a small innuendo towards the end, but I think that's it?

"There's a hole in that wall."

She's stalling, obviously, but Harding humors her by looking up at the rather large hole. "Indeed there is! We've been meaning to fix it for years, but I suppose things just keep coming up."

Natia nods, fidgeting awkwardly in front of the door. People are arguing behind it. Well. One person is yelling. Someone else is calmly arguing back. A third person is muttering loudly. Natia wrings her hands. Three people? There should only be two: the Inquisitor and this Charter person.

"It's going to be okay," Harding assures her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "Just tell them what you told us. The Inquisitor and Solas—erm, Fen'Harel, may have been friends once, but she won't be biased when listening to your story. I promise."

_It's now or never_. Natia nods and Harding pushes open a smaller door built into the two great ones. It definitely seems like less effort than heaving open the two giant doors.

As she suspected, there are three people in the War Room. They all go silent when Barris and Harding quietly usher in Natia.

One woman, a pale elf with red hair, narrows blue eyes at Natia specifically. "This is her?" she asks suspiciously. Natia shrinks under her gaze.

"Don't be rude," the other woman snaps, causing Harding and Barris to share a bemused, concerned look. This woman approaches the trio, offering a kind if not tired smile to Natia. Her skin is only a little lighter than Natia's, and her chocolate brown hair is short but wild. Bloodshot, teal eyes gaze at Natia curiously, studying her and especially the scars on her face, which she also has.

"You're the Inquisitor," Natia murmurs. The woman nods, the smile widening slightly. She's remarkably young, definitely younger than Natia by several years, and it shows when her expression softens slightly.

"You must be the woman I've heard so much about." The Inquisitor moves away from them, leaning against what Natia can only assume is the war table. It's similar to Fen'Harel's, but the map is more detailed and there are more pieces on it.

The third person, a man, is at the Inquisitor's side in almost an instant. He fidgets slightly, as though he wants to touch the Inquisitor but is afraid to. They both visibly relax when she gently leans against him, and he places a tentative hand on her waist.

"This is Krem," the Inquisitor says, and the man nods in greeting, "and Charter, my spymaster." The other elf nods solemnly, still seemingly sizing Natia up.

"Pleased to meet you," Natia mutters at both of them, wringing her hands nervously.

"Are you well enough to tell us what you told our Commander and Ambassador?" the Inquisitor asks. Natia only nods. The Inquisitor looks up at Krem, who immediately returns the attention. He looks at her like he's in awe of her. "Could you make sure no one interrupts us?" she asks of him. Her tone completely changes. She sounds gentle, almost reverent of the man she's addressing. His affirming smile is so warm that Natia's stomach flutters just from watching them. They are clearly lovers.

"Of course, Inquisitor," he says, clearly trying to stay professional and failing terribly. He does not kiss her, though, only gives her that same smile before leaving her side reluctantly. A new love, perhaps? She's seen similar in her clan, and at the temple.

Krem steps out of the room, shutting the door behind him, and the Inquisitor is once again just that. Charter moves around the war table to stand next to the Inquisitor, though there is obvious tension between them.

"You may begin whenever you are ready," the Inquisitor encourages warmly.

It takes a moment, but Natia begins her story. As she recalls what she told Barris and Harding, she keeps in mind all the advice that Fen'Harel gave her. Of course, she slips up under the watchful gaze of Charter multiple times, causing the elf to question her aggressively for a moment. But it's easier now to save herself from such slip ups, despite the added pressure.

As she tells of the "cruelty" that the Dalish suffered at the temple, the Inquisitor places a gloved hand over her mouth, tearing up. When Natia speaks of elves that are whipped and punished more severely than that for worshipping the Evanuris, even Charter breaks her professionalism to look shocked.

The infighting between the different clans and Fen'Harel's indifference to it also seems to shock the Inquisitor, and she asks many questions about it. Natia recalls stories of elves losing limbs and nearly dying from the severity of the fighting. The Inquisitor looks like she can barely believe it.

When she tells of Abelas' attack, she makes sure to go tense and make her voice shake as she speaks. Her eyes water and she makes herself stop multiple times to "regain her composure". Throughout, Harding keeps an encouraging hand on her back, rubbing circles into it whenever Natia makes herself act emotional.

The Inquisitor leans back against the war table when Natia finishes, tears streaming down her face with a hand over her mouth. Charter looks flabbergasted. Natia takes this as a good sign.

"There must be some mistake," the Inquisitor whispers. "That cannot be the Solas that I know."

"It _has_ been four years," Harding reminds her quietly.

"It's just...I never thought...I know he never identified himself with the Dalish, but _this_?" She shakes her head. "And Abelas...I never thought they would go so far. How can the Dalish possibly follow him...?" She looks up at Natia, as though actually expecting an answer.

Natia shifts uncomfortably. "He brought us all back together, offered an opportunity to know the truth of our past, to bring back at least some of the old ways. But now...we can't leave." She sighs. "It's...a miracle I was able to get out through the Eluvian."

"This temple," Charter interjects, "do you know where it is?"

Natia shakes her head. "No. He led us there through Eluvians and hidden messages. I know it is in a large, thick forest, but that is all I can tell you. I am sorry."

"Don't be," the Inquisitor insists, shaking her head. "You've done more than enough just by coming here to tell your story." She approaches and leads Natia back to the door. "Please excuse us, however. We must discuss what steps to take next." Krem is waiting, and nods obediently when the Inquisitor asks him to escort Natia to the Inquisitor's chambers.

"Why there?" she asks Krem as they leave Barris' office and out into the main hall. It is decidedly less crowded, but she still feels everyone's eyes on her as Krem leads her to an adjacent door. The throne, a Dragon skull, looms over the main hall.

"Word of your arrival, and who you are, has more than likely gotten around," Krem explains as they walk through the hall that leads to the Inquisitor's chambers. "Not everyone believes that Fen'Harel is real, but I doubt those who do would be very pleased to know that one of his agents is in Skyhold."

"I'm not one of his agents," she mutters as they climb the last set of steps leading into the chambers.

"Good luck trying to convince them that," he says dryly as they enter the room. It's gorgeous, and Natia hardly feels worthy standing in it. "Feel free to make yourself comfortable. I'm sure their discussion is going to take a while."

Natia sits down on a sofa in front of a fireplace, curling up on the soft cushion. Krem lingers beside it, but doesn't sit down, instead gazing out the window.

"She wants you to touch her," Natia says and Krem goes as red as the center of an Andraste's Grace. "Not like _that_. But just...in general. I can tell; she wants to be close to you."

"I, erm, have no idea what you're talking about," he mutters, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. Natia grins.

"Right."

Krem's eyes flicker towards her nervously and he jumps when there are knocks on the chamber door. Seemingly relieved to be freed from the looming conversation, Krem practically sprints to the door. Voices whisper in hushed tones before Krem yells something as feet pad up the stairs. Ready to fight if necessary, Natia is instead surprised as Malina's head bobs into view.

"Oh, there you are!" the Orlesian exclaims, hurrying to sit at Natia's side. Krem appears at the top of the stairs, grimacing with exasperation.

"You know you can't be in here, Mal." Malina waves a dismissive hand.

"Nonsense! Inquisitor Lavellan allows guests in here all the time."

"Yes, while she is _also_ in the room," he retorts with a sigh.

"Besides," she continues on as if he hadn't spoken, "even if I wasn't, I'm sure _you_ could convince her to forgive me." Krem blanches, then goes red as Natia starts giggling.

"I'm...certain I have no idea what you're talking about."

Malina gives him The Look. " _Mon cher_ , please. I could be _blind_ and I would be able to see it from a mile away." Her expression slowly forms into the cutest grin Natia has ever seen. "Everyone thinks you two are _précieux_ , don't worry!" Natia nods in enthusiastic agreement, assuming the Orlesian word to have a positive connotation.

Krem presses his lips into a fine line, blowing a steady supply of air out through his nose. "Whatever," he finally concedes, throwing his hands up as he stomps over to the desk and slumps into the chair. "It's your ass on the line, red."

Malina grimaces, rolling her eyes. "Maker, at least _try_ to be more original, yes?" Krem rolls his eyes as well, but Natia can tell that they're just being playful.

"Anyway!" Malina exclaims, startling Natia as the redhead turns to her. "How did it go with the Inquisitor?"

Natia sighs, running her hands through her hair. "Terrifying. Harding definitely lied when she said that the Inquisitor isn't as scary as she seems." Malina laughs and shakes her head.

"She really isn't! I promise! She's just _chérie_ , once you get to know her!"

"I hope you realize I don't understand Orlesian."

"You learn to guess and check her meanings after a while," Krem mumbles and Malina shoots him a look before turning her attention back to Natia.

"She's a sweetheart. But, as Inquisitor, she has appearances to keep, especially when it comes to first impressions." Natia nods and Malina squeezes her shoulder.

About two hours later the Inquisitor appears, informing Natia that she can, in fact stay. Of course, the news doesn't come without a silent warning from Charter in the form of a glare. Natia hardly notices it, though, as Harding has her arms wrapped tight around her.

Naturally, Fen'Harel is pleased when she gives him the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that my knowledge of French is *extremely* rough, and I'm more often than not using Google Translate. Please please please let me know if you see any mistakes or if my grammar is off!
> 
> mon cher: my dear  
> précieux: precious  
> chérie: darling


	10. Intermission: Abelas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Everything is really crazy right now, but I'm trying very hard to stick to my schedule! Please bear with me <3
> 
> Note: Nothing serious, though there are some mentions of violence.

Abelas, after two months, begins to notice when their spy has given Fen'Harel an unsavory report.

He shows up to their meetings some mornings looking haggard, as though he had barely slept. Merrill Sabrae, their recently joined mouthpiece to the Dalish, seems to always have a plate of fresh fruit ready for their leader on such mornings.

Those meetings are typically short and concise, as Fen'Harel has no new information to give and neither do his two advisors.

Such meetings are becoming more frequent, and Abelas grows increasingly worried that they planted a spy for nothing. It seems as though Natia is moving nowhere in terms of rank and therefore has nothing to tell Fen'Harel when he visits her in the Fade. It's beginning to look as though they are risking a skilled hunter for no reason at all.

The Dalish in the temple are faring no better, Merrill reports. The fighting gets more violent as more clans crowd into the shrinking spaces. Even after opening the second floor, there is hardly room for anyone to move.

Indeed, Abelas finds it almost impossible to move about the lower floors, and is forced to send runners to fetch his hunters.

The Paril clan, Natia's clan, seems to be faring as well as the others. He can't check up on them very often, however, or he risks making the others think he's showing favor. But Natia had made him promise to watch over them, and Abelas likes to think he's a man of his word.

He jumps slightly as the door to Fen'Harel's chambers slam open, and their leader all but stomps out of his room. Another lacking report, then.

"Nothing again, _hahren_?" Merrill asks sweetly, setting down the plate of fruit by where Fen'Harel stands.

He throws a glare her way, which she deflects without even a flinch as she smiles sympathetically. Fen'Harel grimaces and sighs with a shake of his head.

"Nothing of use. The Inquisitor is keeping her in a low rank, but I am not sure why. Natia says she has proven herself over and over, and that Harding is impressed with how she performs on scouting assignments. Calliope is no fool; she knows when she has a valuable asset on her hands."

"Perhaps she wishes to ensure that Natia is, in fact, a traitor to your cause," Abelas offers, but Fen'Harel just shakes his head in frustration.

"It has been months!" he shouts, banging his fist on the table. Merrill and Abelas exchange a concerned glance.

"Perhaps you should wait a few weeks before you speak with Natia again," Merrill suggests cheerfully, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she speaks. "I'm sure if you're sleepless from constant contact, she can't be faring much better."

Fen'Harel seems to consider this, making both of his advisors hopeful.

Abelas takes Merrill's suggestion and runs with it, adding, "Her skills as a hunter will be lacking if she is too tired to focus, my friend, and she will not be moved up in rank."

"You need a few good nights of sleep as well, _hahren_ ," says Merrill, ever so concerned with the wellbeing of others. Sighing, their leader nods.

"Very well. I will wait before consulting with our spy again." Merrill and Abelas let out silent sighs of relief, though the former freezes when Fen'Harel asks, "How are the clans, Merrill?"

The elf grimaces and wrings her hands nervously. "Well, the Seconds of Clans Harvel and Thelan got into another tiff over space and food. The injuries were...substantially more severe than the last time. They've both been in their respective Healer's tent for the better part of the day."

Fen'Harel frowns, mirroring Abelas. "I see."

"Have you managed to find a temple that is large enough for all the clans?" Abelas asks, brows furrowing towards each other in concern. Fen'Harel shakes his head.

"Not yet. My fretting over Natia took up far too much of my time. I will use this small break to search more for a space large enough to accommodate all of us. Merrill, please ask the clans to hold out for just a little longer." Merrill nods and takes that as her cue to leave, bowing out respectfully.

There is a silence between Abelas and Fen'Harel that Abelas can't place. It is not tense, but it is not comfortable either.

"Have I made the right choice in this, my friend?" Fen'Harel asks after a moment. "Gathering the clans, sending Natia away...is this the right path to our success?"

Abelas isn't sure how to respond. There are many things that Fen'Harel hasn't disclosed to him, details of his plan that not even his most trusted confidant knows. There is no way for him to answer in confidence, being in the dark with so many aspects.

"I cannot say, _lethallin_ ," he finally answers, making Fen'Harel frown. "But I fear it is too late to turn back."

Fen'Harel turns away and walks towards the window, gazing out at the Tirashan.

"You are right, of course," he says after a moment. "I must press forward."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is something I'm probably going to do every 10 chapters or so, just to break from the main plot. Also because I write chapters ahead of time, but I tend to run out of steam and need to write something else after a while. It won't always be from Abelas' point of view, but it will always be relevant to the plot, whether immediately or in the future! Take that as you will ;D enjoy!
> 
> hahren: elder. used as a term of respect.  
> lethallin: term of endearment used between close friends and loved ones.


End file.
